Genre
by HyperInuyasha
Summary: In which personified game genres and companies engage in shenanigans. (Chapter 4: City Escape)
1. The Voice

_**Author's Note:** Ah, this is such a weird thing to be seeing from me. A story with personifications of game genres? You're weird Hyper, you complete dumbass. Well, I decided to go with it anyway. This story will mainly have one-shots, but I might start an arc one day, who knows?_

_I'm really not sure whether this fits in Fanfiction or Fictionpress; in later chapters, I plan on the genres screwing around in some games, so I decided to put it in Fanfiction. I would appreciate it if somebody discusses this issue in a review or PM!_

_Now, enough prattle! Let's start with our first sucker!_

* * *

**_Genre_**

_a dumb thing by **HyperInuyasha**_

* * *

**_1: _**_Interactive Fiction in:_**_ The Voice_**

Interactive Fiction was a strange man. From birth, he had an incurable blindness; he wandered through the dark, avoiding grues, thieves and the like. He never knew what he actually looks like, but from what he heard from the other genres, he looks pretty damn good.

Unless they were lying. Which they probably were. Interactive didn't know what was true-or-false; only the Voice knew.

Oh yes, the Voice probably should have been mentioned first. Much more strange than blindness.

**You wake up alone in a BED, having OVERSLEPT. To your left is a BEDSTAND with your ALARM on top of it, which went off 20 minutes ago. If you get out of BED and go directly forward, you'll enter the LIVING ROOM...**

That damn Voice. Always been with him. Always inside his head. Always talking. Some people, like Puzzle, theorized that his other senses have ascended so much that he could hear a voice nobody else can hear; everybody else just thought that Interactive Fiction was a blind weirdo.

Sometimes, the Voice told him where these offenders were. They quickly received a punch to the gut, or wherever he punched them anyway. He really appreciated that.

He decided to appease the voice and left the bed. He briefly felt his own body...

**You EXAMINE YOURSELF...**

"Oh, will you not..." Interactive Fiction said to the source of the Voice. As helpful and guiding as the Voice was, it was a complete pain, as it always narrates his actions, with details included (some of them annoyingly lengthy). As always, the Voice just prattled on.

**You're wearing a PLAIN T-SHIRT with SWEATPANTS. Oddly, you weren't wearing these clothes LAST NIGHT...**

Another mystery of his Interactive Fiction's life: somebody's been taking care of him. The Voice always directed him to a fresh plate of breakfast and vital supplies were mysteriously refilled.

Also, somebody apparently regularly redresses him in the middle of the night.

Creepy.

He felt his way around the bed until he felt the wooden frame at the front of the bed. Using that as reference, he walked straight ahead through the door.

**You are now in your LIVING ROOM, which is joined with a KITCHEN. Ahead of you is a WALL-**

Interactive Fiction slammed into the wall and fell down on the soft carpet (which felt clean; as if somebody vacuumed). "You could have told me sooner."

**You are now ANNOYED.**

"Thanks."

**You are currently in your LIVING ROOM. If you hug the WALL and GO RIGHT, you'll enter the KITCHEN. If you hug the WALL and GO LEFT, you'll find the FRONT DOOR. If you 90 DEGREES TO THE LEFT and GO FORWARD, you'll find your COUCH. Your PHONE sits on a little table next to it.**

The man caught a scent of something. It smelled absolutely delicious.

**You are smelling a PLATE OF PANCAKES on the KITCHEN COUNTER. It already has MAPLE SYRUP and BUTTER piled on.**

Interactive Fiction scuttled in like a bug, drawn in by the pancakes. There it was... he could not see it, but he could smell it, and boy, could he imagine the taste...

**You do not have the UTENSILS REQUIRED (FORK AND KNIFE) to eat the PANCAKES!**

"..." the blind man reached toward the pancakes with his hand...

**You cannot EAT PANCAKES with YOUR BARE HANDS. YOUR HANDS would get STICKY!**

"..."

**Your ANNOYANCE LEVEL has INCREASED!**

The cursed guy huffed. It was now the time of day where he was unfortunately forced to engage in weird puzzle nonsense. "Where are the utensils?"

**There are THREE DRAWERS in FRONT OF YOU. The UTENSILS are IN ONE OF THEM.**

He swiped his hands below the kitchen counter and found the drawer handles. He pulled open the middle drawer first...

**There is NOTHING in the MIDDLE DRAWER.**

The personified genre tried the one on the very left - he was shocked to discover that it was locked.

**The LEFT DRAWER is LOCKED.**

"Why."

**Your ANNOYANCE LEVEL has INCREASED!**

Maintaining his patience, he opened the (thankfully unlocked) right drawer.

**There is a PILE OF FORKS and a PILE OF METAL OBJECTS inside the RIGHT DRAWER.**

Interactive Fiction actually gasped in joy as he grabbed fork. Oh, the pancakes have tempted his heightened senses so much...

**You cannot EAT PANCAKES without a KNIFE.**

"AAAARGH!"

**Your ANNOYANCE LEVEL is now at MAX!**

Interactive Fiction was pissed at his life. At his blindness. At the Voice. At the puzzle shit. He honestly suspects that the person who takes care of him pulls these kinds of things to test him, so that he may one day do things on his own.

They're really lousy tests.

However, some of his anger subsided; he was really curious about the pile of metal that was with the forks, for whatever reason. He dug his hands into the drawer again, curiosity replacing some of his rage.

**You SEARCH the PILE OF METAL OBJECTS.**

Aha!

**You find a KEY.**

As tedious as these puzzles were, Interactive Fiction felt really great inside after solving one. It made him feel accomplished. It made him feel like a genius. It made him feel like anyone that's not a blind man with an omniscient Voice following him everywhere.

He fumbled around with the key, trying to get it in the lock of the unsearchable drawer. Finally, it went in, and he felt ecstatic.

**This is not the KEY to the LEFT DRAWER!**

"Fuck."

...

**MINUTES have PASSED. You are now CONTENT, SITTING on THE FLOOR. YOUR HANDS are STICKY. Your CARETAKER is sure to be DISAPPOINTED.**

"Worth it."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** And with that, the first chapter of this thing is done! For the time being, Interactive Fiction's caretaker will be anonymous: is it another genre? Perhaps Puzzle, who was mentioned earlier? It's still a mystery. Especially since I've introduced nobody else._

_...Welp, hope you liked the chapter. Please give reviews to tell me praise, grievances, and/or death threats._


	2. An Average Morning

_**2:** Survival Horror in: **An Average Morning**_

* * *

Survival Horror woke up at 5:30 AM, in his closet bedroom. The mattress alone took up most of the small space, with a metal trunk shoved underneath. All necessary precautions, of course.

"What do you have for me today, house?" he said in a jittery voice. He ran his hand through his hair - blonde and unkempt - wondering what surprise awaited him outside of the closet today.

Being the representative of horror games, Survival Horror was easily the worst off out of all the genres, having had feelings of paranoia instilled in him for his whole life. His home definitely didn't help matters; his house was his own personal Silent Hill, constantly morphing into a different form and throwing something horrible at him. Only the closet was safe. Always safe.

Now that he was awake, it was time to leave the house. He always eats out or at a friend's house, as everything in his home was untrustworthy. First, to gather some supplies.

He pulled the chest out from under the bed and opened it; various items were stored inside, carefully arranged to fit as many things inside as possible. Horror looked at himself in a hand mirror, making sure that his pale face hasn't transformed into something horrible like a beetle overnight. Relieved that he wasn't reliving some Metamorphosis-type shit, he pulled out a long black coat from the box and threw it around his plain blue pajamas. Horror then picked up his wallet, his cell phone, and most importantly, a Beretta pistol. He scrapped up the meager ammo that was inside the container, reloaded his gun, and gulped.

"B-bring it on, house!" he shouted as he kicked the closet door open.

Today, his residence took up metal floors and walls, all of them rusting. On the other side of the room was the front door - looks too easy. Horror darted his eyes up. He only saw a low-hanging lightbulb.

He breathed with relief. Today, nothing will get the jump on him.

Horror strode across the room unhindered. However, he felt something erupting in him as he neared the door.

The feeling of dread seized him.

He was in front of the door.

His hand wrapped around the doorknob.

He sweated, apprehensive.

Then

he

turned it...

The door was locked.

Another breath of relief. Was this all the house could do to him today? Lock him in his own home?

Haha..

Ahahahaha-

Oh right, now he can't leave.

The pale man looked around for something that could get the door open. No keys were in sight, nor any places where a key could be hidden. He didn't have his own key for the house, as it could protect itself (pretty much the only positive of living in this paranoia-inducing hole). He felt his hand grip around his pistol and the answer was so obvious. The gun strode out of his pocket and pointed at the doorknob. Horror pulled the trigger.

BANG!

A flash.

And then nothing. The door was unaffected by the shot.

Welp. Time to call for help.

* * *

Puzzle slammed the Sudoku puzzle on the table in triumph, having solved it effortlessly. She sighed in a satisfied matter as she laid down on her couch. Perhaps she'll watch television later. Or play Tetris. Or maybe get a new piece of Victorian-esque furniture for her modern home...

RING RING

Or maybe have a chat with one of the other genres. That works too.

* * *

"Hello?" she answered in her almost quiet voice.

"PUZZLE, I'M TRAPPED IN MY HOUSE, HELP!"

Ah yes, her dear friend, Survival Horror. He was no stranger to puzzles himself, but he always made a call to her when things got a little too hot to handle. "What is it, Horror? Can't find the exit?"

"N-no! I can see the front door just fine! It's just locked, and I can't find the blasted key!"

"Shhh, settle down. Now, have you looked at all your possibilities? Every puzzle has an answer, you know."

"I did look everywhere, I can't..." Survival Horror diverted his eyes toward the ceiling.

They widened in fear.

There was a man with a burlap sack on his head. His neck was tied in the ropes that held up the lightbulb, hanging him.

That wasn't there before.

He was understandably worried. "P-PUZZLE!"

"Yes?"

"THERE'S SUDDENLY A BODY BEING HUNG IN MY LIVING ROOM!"

"Oh. That's... terrible. I'm sorry to hear that. It must clash horribly with the interior design of your house."

"T-TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY!"

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to calm you down with some humor." the girl on the other end of the phone sighed. "Well... chances are, the key to the front door is on the dead body that your eldritch location house spawned."

Horror audibly gulped, to the pity of Puzzle. "I'm not going to enjoy this."

"Surely, you must be used to it by now?"

"Yes... b-but..."

"Horror, you can do this, I believe you can!" she chirped. "How about I pick you up and bring you somewhere happier and cheerful as a reward? Play a co-op game, perhaps?"

The man felt a bit at ease. "Y...yes. That'd be nice..."

"Right. I'll see you soon. Good luck with your house problem." Puzzle hung up, leaving Horror alone with the dead body.

He stared up at the hanged man. It was likely that it'd come to life as soon as it came down.

Survival Horror tried to put up and courageous face.

He pointed his gun up toward the rope.

Then he fired.

CRACK!

The body and the lightbulb fell toward the metallic floor as the rope was split...

THUD - SHATTER!

The body crushed the lightbulb under it and the room was submerged into darkness.

Horror held his cell phone out like a flashlight.

He pointed it at the body to illuminate it.

The body started to stir.

Survival Horror mustered his courage and pointed the Beretta at it.

BOOM!

Blood gushed from the body's head as it slumped back down.

You lose again, house.

Horror stepped toward the body cautiously. He saw a glint shining on its belt - the key. He reached his hand toward it...

"Oh wait." confident that nothing else will get him, he fired a second round into the body's head.

Necessary precaution.

Survival Horror victoriously took the key from the dead for real body and went back to the door; he kept the body in the corner of his eye as he unlocked the door...

He stepped outside.

It was an ordinary day outside, with a small breeze blowing as the sun shined through the clouds. The NPCs milled around in the suburban neighborhood, paying no attention to the sentient genre. He took a look at his own house; it was a perfectly normal house on the outside, which fit in with the local area.

Down the road, he could see the entrance to the Forest. His side of the Forest had a fog within it.

He thought he saw a pair of red eyes staring from the darkness at him.

He shivered.

The man closed the door behind him as he walked down the paved path to the sidewalk, shielding his eyes with his coat from the rays of the sun. He wildly glanced around at the NPCs. You never know what they might be capable of.

Then, an old-looking car rolled down the street and stopped in front of his house. Before he could point his Beretta at it, the windows rolled down, revealing Puzzle, smiling at him. Her black hair was bunched up with a bowler hat atop it. Her face was young and jovial, but behind her eyes was a brilliant seriousness. "I see that you're alive."

"For now." he said, half-jokingly, half-seriously. He got in the other front seat with the girl, and he could see that she was wearing a serviceable, formal suit.

"Where should we go?" Puzzle asked. "I heard that Action-Adventure set up some archery game in the Forest."

Survival Horror whimpered. "I'd rather not go in there."

"If you say so."

"How... about we go out and play Dance Dance Revolution?"

"Dance Dance Revolution?"

"Yes. Seems safe enough."

"Are you sure? You might trip and break your leg." she teased.

"...R-really?"

"Relax. It was just another attempt at humor."

"...You're not that funny..."

"...I know I'm not." she admitted as she started to drive, bringing them as far away from Horror's nightmare house as possible.

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_**Author's Note:** Check it out, we've got two more characters and vague setting details. Fun for the whole family._


	3. Street Race

_**Author's Note:** There are a lot of other things I should be updating (cough OFF: The Unflattering Rewrite and hack The War Against Giygas cough), but I enjoy writing chapters for this._

* * *

**_3: Street Race_**

* * *

A police blockade held up a horde of cars from entering the greater part of the city, to the frustration of many. At the very back, in an old car, humming to herself was Puzzle. Next to her, a nervous Survival Horror wrung his hands.

"W...what do you think the b-blockade is for?" Survival Horror asked.

"I'm not quite sure." Puzzle answered back.

"Do... do you think that some eldritch horror broke out? Or some... zombie apocalypse is happening?"

"Hopefully it's neither."

"Excuse me." they turned their heads toward the driver's window to see a police officer NPC there. The cop held up a poster with a face familiar to them. "Have you seen this man?"

"Him?" Puzzle said, looking a bit surprised.

"Yes. He was found to be an accompli- put your weapon down, sir."

Horror slowly put his Beretta away, looking a bit bashful. "Sorry..." he mumbled. "But... that guy? Are you sure? Surely, he was framed..."

"We're unsure of that ourselves, but, at the very least, we're bringing him in for questioning." the policeman said.

"I'm sure that your violent methods will frighten him away." the female genre said.

It appeared that the law enforcement officer didn't hear her. "There's too much to be dealing with right now... Trying to catch the robbery suspects, trying to stop the street race going on..."

"Street race?"

Speak of the devil, a great rumbling like a pack of animals was heard in the distance. Then, the cars appeared, driving down the road, which was devoid of anything but police cars. They went through the blockade, a few of the illegal racers colliding into the cop vehicles and getting stuck. Some of the officers, pulling out handcuffs and weapons, proceeded to arrest the trapped unfortunates, while a few others started after the racers.

"...Ah. I see."

* * *

Racing sweated in his helmet, turning a corner, narrowly avoiding a street lamp. The police blockade back there managed to hold up a few people that were ahead of him, easily bumping him up to fourth; it wasn't over yet, though. The race was only two-thirds done, and anything could happen.

However, despite the anxiety gripping him, Racing smiled. The thrill and adrenaline that he so loves was filling him. The rush he gets from a race always gives him satisfaction. It was quite addicting; in fact, he wouldn't be doing something so illegal if it weren't so fun and compelling.

The cars (hand-chosen by the group of criminals running the race) sped down the road, howling sirens close behind. The race entered a residential part of the city, with ordinary civilian cars driving around. Yet another obstacle to be dealing with.

Racing weaved through the cars of surprised civilians skillfully. He caught up to the third place racer, who was unaware of his presence, being too concerned with the other cars. Racing drove alongside him, and it was only then did his competitor notice him. "Sorry about this." the genre said, half-genuinely. With a twist of the steering wheel, Racing gave the other racer a bump. The formerly third place racer spun and crashed into some garbage cans on the curb. He was likely to get caught by the police before he recovered.

The race continued, with Racing now in third place. Though the position was good, he desired first place. The glory of being in first always appealed to him. However, as he day-dreamed ramming the guy in first place and surpassing him, he failed to notice somebody walking across the street.

A tall, blonde, short haired man wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants walked aimlessly into the middle of the street, directly in front of Racing.

**You are standing in THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. RACING is heading toward you, and you are likely to GET HIT BY HIM.**

The man furrowed his eyebrow in response to the Voice only he could hear.. "What..?"

Both genres were surprised by the collision. "I-Interactive Fiction?" Racing said in surprise as the other genre sprawled across his car hood.

"Aaaaargh what's happening!" Interactive Fiction screamed, stuck to the windshield.

Racing sweatdropped. He treated this as if a Blooper's spray of ink hit him, trying to look over the blind man while driving. Despite the new handicap, Racing was still holding up well, with the second place driver in sight.

Then, Racing saw somebody else coming out of nowhere. From the sky, a man jumped down and landed on the racer ahead - he then used it as a springboard up to a building. Gunshots rang out, not aiming at the racers but rather, at the man. The sudden intervention and the gunshots disoriented the racer.

Now's my chance, Racing thought. "Hold on, Fiction!" he announced to the screaming guy on his windshield.

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?"

**You are STUCK ON A CAR traveling at 40 MPH and INCREASING.**

"YOU'RE NO HELP!"

The Voice was accurate in his description, as Racing was hot on the other racer's heels, trying to take advantage of this situation. The runner-up racer was so confused by what happened that he was unaware of Racing ramming into and passing him. As Racer cheered to himself in triumph, Interactive Fiction flew off his vehicle, screaming his head off.

He picked a really bad day to go outside.

The race was at its last stretch, heading into the city's Pier. Racing heard less cop cars following him; they were likely caught up in the residential district, or, they got caught up with chasing the man that unknowingly helped him. He soon managed to catch up to the person in first place.

The driver stuck his head out the window and saw Racing behind him. "Oh geez!" His car sped up, trying to get away from the man behind him.

However, there was no way he was going to win. After all, Racing always won. The genre caught up with his enemy, while still stuck behind him. Then came the last turn before the finish line. They both twisted their steering wheels...

However, the man in first place turned too much and crashed into the front of a seafood restaurant.

Racing pretty much won. He drove down the last parts of road, the ocean at his right side with the sun shining over it. He admired the pretty sight as he directed his car toward a storage warehouse near the docks.

Many people, mostly criminals, were within the warehouse, and they cheered as Racing crossed the finish line that was messily spray-painted on the floor. The doors closed, hiding them from the watchful eyes of the police. The NPCs crowded around the car, awaiting the winner to come out.

The door opened and Racing came out, allowing them to get a proper look at him. He was wearing a red racing jumpsuit, with various game company logos stamped on it. A helmet covered his head, hiding his face. "Leave it on." he said to a man that tried to take it off.

"Congratulations man." the apparent leader, a punk-ish looking guy, said as he walked up to him.

As the guy fished something from his pockets, Racing held out his hand. "I don't need your money." Everybody gasped. Racing coolly left them, heading to the warehouse's backdoor. "The glory of winning is enough for me." he said somewhat cheerfully as he left, a victorious feeling instilled in him.

**Epilogue**

**You are STUCK in a TRASH CAN. Also in the TRASH CAN is a ROTTEN APPLE and a PERFECTLY OKAY HAMBURGER.**

"You are useless right now..." Interactive Fiction moaned in pain. Then, he heard something pull up alongside the sidewalk.

**PUZZLE and SURVIVAL HORROR have driven up NEXT TO YOU. They are offering a RIDE.**

He felt somebody take his hand. "C..come on, Fiction. This place is sort of... dangerous at the moment."

"We're going to play Dance Dance Revolution. Do you want to play with us?" he heard Puzzle offer.

"...How can I even see the steps?" Interactive Fiction said.

"...Okay, let's go get ice cream then. Everybody enjoys ice cream."

"Y..yes. That sounds nice." Survival Horror said, nodding.

"As long as I don't get hit by any cars on the way there." Interactive Fiction said plainly.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** This story's going to take a break for awhile, so I could catch up with all my other stuff. Thank you for reading!_


	4. City Escape

_**Author's Note:** Not many people read this, but I enjoy writing it._

* * *

_**4:** **City Escape**_

* * *

First Person Shooter, a tall broad man, was walking in the park of the City to pass the time. The trigger happy man didn't have any sort of job at the moment nor some guy to snuff out, so he decided to take a chill and relaxing walk. His army jacket was tied around his waist, separating his white shirt and cargo pants, appropriate for the sunny weather.

Suddenly, he heard somebody running. His hand briefly lowered to his holster, however, he calmed down upon seeing who it was. A dork wearing a red cap, running shoes, and a shirt like Rayman's was running toward him - he knew who that dork was. "Oy! Platformer! How the hell are ya?"

The goofy man ran past him, screaming, "Yo sorry don't have time to talk!"

FPS frowned. His usual speedy demeanor had a tinge of... worry...

Then a storm of bullets hailed from the direction Platformer ran from. Fortunately, none of them hit the running genre. Unfortunately, it was because his equally successful friend shielded him. Platformer could only afford a quick worried look over his shoulder. "Sorry again!"

Several floating robots (shaped like discs, similar to those floating GUN robots from Sonic Adventure) flew over First Person Shooter as he bled into unconsciousness. "...You are all a bunch of crazy chucklefucks..."

Platformer ran through the park as he heard bullets scatter behind him. He jumped over rocks and benches and ordinary NPCs as he tried to distance himself from the robots.

He deeply regrets his actions an hour ago.

* * *

Platformer stood at the top of a certain building - as instructed by the person who contacted him. He tapped his foot, resisting the urge to jump around the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.

"Hey, hey, calm down..." a Brooklyn-accented voice called out. Then, climbing up to the rooftop on a ladder, was..

"Hello! Took you long enough, Sandbox!" The man was a bit pudgy, with slick hair and shades, a leather jacket covering him. Platformer flashed him a smile with his cartoony, happy face.

Sandbox grinned back, but there was somewhat of a sinister glint. "Hey pal. Listen, I need you to do a thing for me..." He took Platformer by the shoulder and gently prodded him over to the roof's skylight. "See that down there?"

The capped genre looked down. Below the skylight was a glowing gem atop a pedestal, with some sort of control console next to it. His eyes then darted to the entrance of the grand room - there were lasers guarding the gem. "I see... did somebody take your gem?"

"Sure. A punk stole my gem." Sandbox nodded slowly. "Alright, I want you to wait for me to appear next to those lasers, got it? Then, you drop down and turn them off. Simple?"

"Aye!" Platformer said with a salute.

"Right. Remember, this is a noble cause and I appreciate your help on this..." he briefly chuckled before he bemusement turned into frustration as he started his climb down the ladder again.

Platformer sat down, twiddling his thumbs, looking down the skylight window. Thankfully, he resisted the urge to rush ahead long enough for his associate to show up. Sandbox looked up at him, giving a thumbs up.

With the cry of a wild beast, Platformer jumped up then slammed through the glass. He screeched with joy as he fell and he landed with a pose, completely uninjured by the glass and the fall. He approached the console near the glowing gem ("I wonder how Sandbox lost this," he thought) and then, instead of turning off the lasers, he outright broke the machine with a kick.

"Thanks, pal..." Sandbox ran up to the pedestal and took the jewel off of it; immediately upon lifting it, an alarm sounded. He then fed Platformer an evil sneer, "...you sucker."

Platformer looked confused. "What's happening? Who's the sucker?"

"You're the sucker, idiot." Sandbox mocked as he pocketed it. "This ain't my gem, you impulsive loon - I can't believe you fell for this!"

"H-hold it right there!" a voice shouted. Down the hall, where the lasers used to be, was a guard NPC. Platformer's heart sunk as he saw his nametag: MUSEUM SECURITY.

"...Oooooohhh." Platformer chuckled a bit to calm himself down. "...I just helped you rob a museum, didn't I?"

"Yeeeep." the sinister man took out an Uzi from his jacket and filled the guard with lead.

Meanwhile, Platformer was standing there, taking in the fact that he was fooled. "...Whoops. Um... come back here, you jerk!" He started to jog after Sandbox, who was shooting his way out of the museum. Upon reaching the lobby, Platformer witnessed Wide Open Sandbox running out the front door, laughing like a maniac. Before he could continue giving chase, more museum security personal stomped down from the upper floor - with weapons pointed at Platformer.

"Hey, that's the guy who helped him steal the gem!"

"Get 'im!"

Platformer responded by jumping through the nearest window.

* * *

And so, here we are. Platformer had been running from law enforcement for the past hour or so, with the people chasing him increasing in severity and firepower. It started with ordinary security guards, escalated into police, and now, police robots. The police weren't exactly the reasoning type of people - Platformer sure as hell can't reason with robots, either. Plus, they had a shoot first, ask questions later policy. So, all he could do was run, looking for a place to hide out until Wide Open Sandbox was brought to justice.

Of course, he was still getting chased, so Sandbox is still out in the open.

"_Hold still_." one of the flying drones behind him said as it shot another round of bullets. Luckily, Platformer was very capable at dodging and was not hit by a single one.

He was now out of the park and in a small commercial district, with cozy home businesses and shopfronts. Platformer could hear police sirens everywhere - however, it appeared that the law was preoccupied with something else at the moment. He jumped on top of a dumpster and used it to boost himself on top of a small bakery. Like a cat in the night, he started to streak around rooftops, trying to gain higher and higher ground - he hoped that he could just jump down onto his pursuers and destroy them.

However, it became obvious to Platformer that he was heading into a trap, as he somehow found himself in a small residential district - filled with police cars. Luckily, the human cops hadn't noticed him yet, but as soon as the robots chasing him started shooting, they would know.

Platformer didn't really like the idea of getting shot.

"Will you guys give up already?" he pleaded with the machines, who answered with more silent chasing. Then, he looked ahead and saw a tall apartment building across the street. If he could get over there, he could hide out in a room until the heat's gone...

That's when he saw it - a car, speeding down the street. He saw two other cars in the distance, with the farthest one with... Interactive Fiction on it? Huh. Weird.

But he now knew what to do.

The car (aka the one that didn't have a screaming thrashing genre on it) started to pass in front of Platformer... "Okay... Here I go!" he jumped off the building, to the frustration of his pursuers, who were just about to shoot him.

"Doo dum dum..." Platformer landed on the front of the second place racer's car. "What the hell?"

"Sorry!" the genre offered briefly before catapulting off the car.

Combined with momentum, the jump, and video game physics, Platformer ascended really high, toward the building. With a cry, he smashed through a window and rolled into the room.

He stood up, looking remarkably pleased with himself. "Yes! Made it!" He laughed happily as he exited the apartment room (which was thankfully unoccupied), ran out into the hall, and into a random room. He then rolled right under a bed.

Yes.

The perfect escape.

"...Platformer, what are you doing under my bed?" a voice asked.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Where in the world is Wide Open Sandbox? Anyway, terrible writing aside, who is the person at the end of the chapter, for that matter? Find out, eventually!_


End file.
